Sway
by The Silver Phoenix
Summary: "I don't dance," he'd said once. But she proved him wrong, as only she could. Robin/Starfire


**Sway  
**By **The Silver Phoenix**

**Summary: **"I don't dance," he'd said once. But she proved him wrong, as only she could. Robin/Starfire

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters.

* * *

"I don't dance," he'd said once.

But she proved him wrong, as only she could.

It wasn't that he didn't like dancing. Before his parents died, he used to sneak up and watch them dance late at night, with their antique gramophone playing softly in the background. Their favourite song was "_The Way You Look Tonight_", a worn, scratchy record that would get stuck more often than not, but John and Mary Grayson never stopped when the music did and eventually the young boy realised that was because his parents understood each other so perfectly they didn't need Frank Sinatra to accompany them; they only needed each other. And so for him, too, dancing became a matter of finding the right partner.

He found her – or rather, she found him – on a chance date with destiny, when she showed up in a lavender dress that brought out the fire in her glowing eyes. Nothing could have prepared him for what he had felt then and he had never been gladder for his mask, for he was shaking inside and couldn't trust himself not to let it show. Robin was well-versed in the requisite etiquette for social functions, but standing there in the violet dusk, in the momentary interlude halfway between sunset and nightfall, he was Richard Grayson again: a shy, awkward teenager working up the courage to ask a girl to dance.

"I guess one more dance wouldn't kill me," he'd joked, taking her hand and leading her out to the empty dance floor.

He was the more experienced, but she was a fast learner, furrowing her brow and biting her lip in concentration as she focused on her footing and kept count under her breath in Tamaranian. Of course, they both had their fair share of blunders, and he would mumble a flustered apology while her cheeks became tinctured pale cerise whenever they accidentally stepped on each other's toes. At times, their faces were so close that he could easily have leaned forward and kissed her – but he knew the price of the space between them, so he didn't; he wouldn't. Not until he was absolutely sure.

One dance soon blended into two, then three, then four… until she had learned all the steps by heart. At the end of the night, she had hugged him and thanked him for "a most wondrous and delightful experience" and it had been his turn to blush then as he marvelled at how easily she had, with her brilliant smile and charming naïveté, proved him so completely wrong.

That was the night when a simple crush turned into something more; a hint that, given time, their friendship could potentially develop into a stronger, deeper attachment. He certainly wouldn't have gone so far as to label it love, yet the memory of the dance stayed with him long afterwards and he knew that she had somehow broken down his defences and found her way into his heart. He just hadn't known how deeply.

* * *

Five years, seven months and twenty-one days after that first dance, she proved him wrong again.

He was in Gotham at the time, sorting a few things out with Batman. Unfortunately for Robin, being Bruce Wayne's protégé necessarily entailed making a public appearance every now and then at one insipid social function or another. The latest event he found himself dragged along to happened to be an electoral fundraiser dinner – in other words, a chance to rub shoulders with the city's high and mighty, and endure several hours of speeches during which prominent politicians sent spittle flying everywhere in their impassioned vociferations, while feigning an interest in tax cuts, foreign policy and international trade.

This evening, though, Robin had absolutely no interest in politics whatsoever. His mind was occupied by one thought only.

He and Starfire had officially been dating for exactly one year and tonight was their anniversary – but she was still in Jump City and he wasn't scheduled to return until the following week. As he thought of her, one of his favourite memories instantly sprung to mind, so vividly that for a second he was certain she was actually standing there in front of him, looking exactly the way she had looked that night on the cruise ship.

"Starfire?" he called out incredulously, unable to stop himself.

Of course it wasn't really her; just a redhead in a purple dress who glared at him and walked away.

Robin's frustration hadn't gone unobserved, however, as such things rarely went undetected by the family's faithful old butler and trusted mentor, Alfred. "Perhaps a certain young lady of Master Grayson's acquaintance is absent tonight?" the kind grandfatherly figure asked.

"It's our anniversary," Robin sighed, running an exasperated hand through his gel-spiked hair. "We were supposed to spend it together and instead I'm stuck here. This is Bruce's party, Alfred. Not mine."

"Master Wayne may not be your father," Alfred said sternly, "but I must remind you that you too have a place – and a duty – here."

"That's what he wants, isn't it?" Robin retorted darkly.

"Master Grayson," Alfred admonished, "Gotham will always need a hero and no man can be a hero forever; not even the best of them. You know why Master Wayne called you back."

"I know, Alfred," Robin said firmly. "But this is not my city anymore. I'm only here to settle matters with him."

Alfred's gaze darted uneasily toward Bruce Wayne, seated at the table of honour reserved exclusively for the city's luminaries. "I would not presume to interfere with your relationship with Master Wayne, so I can only advise you to make your choices wisely."

There was a heavy pause. "I already have."

Alfred nodded gravely in understanding. "Then so be it." If he was at all surprised, he certainly gave no visible indication of it. Then, in an abrupt change of manner, he added, "Forgive me for speaking boldly, sir, but if that is your decision then I believe you may have another appointment to keep tonight." Alfred winked conspiratorially, a knowing twinkle in his eye.

Robin looked aghast, furtively glancing around to see if their conversation had been overheard. "I can't just jump on a plane and go back to see her! …No matter how much I want to." _And I really, really want to._

"Very well, sir. Just keep in mind that if you let too many chances slip by, they will eventually end up in someone else's hands and you may one day wake up to find your own filled only with regrets – a lesson I fear that Master Wayne understands all too well." Here, Alfred bowed and left the young man to ponder the implications of these words.

Robin wasn't exactly known for impulsive behaviour, preferring instead to think things through ahead of time and to rely on instinct, skill and experience to compensate for any deficiency in planning. Then again, though, things were different when it came to Starfire. The more time they spent together, the more she brought out a different part of him: the part of him that laughed with his friends and went along with Beast Boy's awful jokes; the part of him that, when presented with a sample of the Tamaranian princess's cooking that promptly sent the others scurrying away as fast as they could, inexplicably wanted to kiss her instead; and of course the part of him that really, really loved dancing.

She brought out the Richard Grayson in him… and Richard Grayson didn't have to play by Robin's rules.

In an instant his mind was made up. "Actually, Alfred," he grinned, "I'm gonna have to borrow the Bentley."

He caught the first flight to Jump City and tracked her down to the charity ball that the Titans were attending that evening. He was afraid he might already have missed her, but the final song was just starting when he showed up, still breathless from running the last few blocks through traffic. There were hundreds of guests in that ballroom but he instantly spotted her in the crowd, standing by herself in a sea of couples. In that moment, to him, she alone was alive and radiant in a room filled with ghosts.

No projection of the mind, however vivid, and no memory, however accurate, could ever have done justice to the real Starfire. He had pictured her dazzling smile with its aura of irrepressible, infectious joy, and he had in his imagination recreated the sheen of light playing in her auburn hair – but to actually taste her lips crashing down on his and to actually feel the stray strands of her hair tickling his neck as she threw her arms around him in greeting and snuggled up close… _that_, his imagination could never imitate.

"Happy anniversary, Star," he said. "I saved the last dance for you."

* * *

The sky was clearer that night than it had been for a long time, strewn with rivers of diamonds, and the air was crisp with the first hint of the approaching autumn. He took her up to the roof of the building, leaving the door ajar so that they could still hear the music being played below. The jazz band struck up the tune of "_The Way You Look Tonight_" and the warm sound of string instruments filled the air as they started to dance; sweet violins were soon joined by the rich undertones of mellow saxophones and resonant brasses, all fusing together in perfect harmony.

"I love this song," Starfire murmured, leaning in and pressing her body against his.

"Yeah, me too," he admitted, voice choked with emotion as he wrapped his arms tightly around her. For him, it brought back an overwhelming flood of childhood reminiscences of all the times he had heard the same song before: in a dimly candlelit caravan, with flickering shadows dancing across the walls; outdoors, against a starlit backdrop, with the fresh aroma of grass underfoot and the cries of nocturnal creatures ringing in his ears; in the deafening, shuddering darkness of a railway carriage, the music all but drowned out by the din of the circus train thundering through the midnight countryside.

"It was my parents' favourite song," he explained. "They used to dance to it every night and I always used to sneak up and watch them when I was supposed to be asleep. But they never noticed me – it was like they had the whole world to themselves – and now that they're gone, it always makes the remembrance a little more painful, a little more bittersweet: them, together in their own world, without me."

"You must miss them terribly," she said softly. "I am sorry."

He nodded, his cheek brushing gently against hers. "It's OK. Somehow, when I recall those small details, those things that no one else knew… somehow it makes me feel slightly closer to them."

"I understand. Thank you for sharing this with me." She smiled sympathetically. "It is also how I feel when I think of my family and of Tamaran."

They danced a while longer, simply enjoying each other's company again after having been apart for the past three weeks. He noticed that dancing came more naturally to her now; gone was the clumsiness of her early teenage years, replaced instead by a more mature, graceful fluidity of movement such that she appeared to be gliding on air as they swayed together gently in time to the music.

"I thought you were coming back next week," she said eventually, resting her head gently on his shoulder.

"I was," he breathed, close to her ear. "But this couldn't wait."

She faltered in her step. Once, but they both noticed it. "Hmm… if I recall correctly, you once said you did not like dancing," she teased, trying to disguise the tremor in her voice.

"Then I was wrong," he said quietly. "That was before I danced with you."

Dreams and thoughts are never truly concrete, but words once spoken out loud are weighed down with a definite finality, pinned like butterfly wings to reality, and that was when he really knew for certain: as long as she was with him, he would never want to dance with anyone else, because he wanted to share each and every dance with her, wanted each and every one of his dances to be hers too. As if right on cue, the music stopped at exactly that moment and the final notes seemed to hang completely still, immortalised for a frozen moment like a single droplet balanced for a split-second on the edge of gravity, before smashing into a million fragments and dissolving into black oblivion.

He pulled back, grasping her hands in his as if she too might fade away if he didn't hold on. "You're the only girl I've ever loved dancing with, Star," he said, keeping his eyes locked firmly with hers so that she could see he was being completely serious. "Robin doesn't dance, but Richard Grayson definitely does. And I'm always Richard when I'm with you."

"I know," she whispered as her face slowly lit up with the beautiful smile that he knew and loved so well, the smile that had stolen his heart and made it all her own. "I know, Richard. I have always known."

He kissed her then, again and again, at times with the fumbling hesitation of a first kiss, at times with the desperate, frantic passion of a final parting kiss, with kisses that were at once both fervent and tender. When at last they broke apart, he took her hand and led her to the centre of the rooftop once more, and although the music had already stopped, they continued to dance long into the night, for two lovers joined as closely and intricately as two dancers in a waltz are governed not by any audible melodies, but bound only by the infinite music in their hearts.

* * *

**A/N: **For the record, I made up the part about Robin's parents dancing. Bruce Wayne and Alfred are borrowed from the Batman universe and I tried to keep them in character but all mistakes are entirely my own.


End file.
